Playing With Fire

"Yes, and for many reasons, but they cannot be prevented from entering any place to which they are sent. I was not a week at Cramer before I was aware

'of Dreams upon the wall,

And visions passing up the shadowy stair and through the vacant hall.'"

"I am glad you told me of Ian's dream. I understand him better now."

"And like him better?"

"Yes, but I have always loved Ian above all others."

"Then be patient with him now. It is hard for mortals to live when their moments are filled with eternity."

CHAPTER XI

LOVE IS THE FULFILLING OF THE LAW

"Then, as the veil is rent in twain,
From unremembered places where they lay
Dead thoughts, dead words arise and live again,
The clouded eyes can see, the lips can pray.
A purer light dawns on the night of pain,
And, on the morrow, 'tis the Sabbath day."

The love of God, which passeth all understanding.

For a few days Dr. Macrae was seen frequently about the streets of Glasgow. Some bowed to him, some passed by on the other side. He was also generally accompanied by Major Macrae or by a certain well-known lawyer, neither of them men partial to greetings in the market place or conversations at the street corners. So in a manner he was protected by his companions and his preoccupation. In his home all knew that he was going away, but no one named the circumstance to him. It was not an easy thing to talk to Macrae on subjects he did not wish named.

Indeed, it was four days after his public resignation from the ministry before the Church of the Disciples ventured to make any movement signifying their acceptance of his withdrawal. Then a little company of church officials called on him to exchange some necessary papers and pay the salary which was due. Thomas Reid's name was among those of the visitors, and for a moment Ian resolved not to meet them. But it was Jessy Caird who brought him their request, and she looked so persuasively at Ian that he answered:

"Very well, Jessy, if you think so, send them in here."

When the little band entered his study his heart melted at the sight of these old associates of his dead life. They had honored and loved him for many years, and his miserable state was not their fault. Only Elder Reid had ever offended, and he had always regretted the trouble and been glad when it was removed. So Ian looked at them with his heart in his eyes, and they looked at him and could not utter a word.

For this man was not their long-beloved Minister. He was even outwardly so changed they could not for a few moments accept him. That very day Ian had taken off his "blacks" forever. The long black broadcloth coat and vest and the snow-white band around his throat had been replaced by a very handsome suit of dark tweed, such as they were themselves wearing. And this change in his dress – so totally unexpected – moved them beyond all reason. They looked at him in silence, and their hearts and eyes were full of unshed tears.

They had seated themselves on the long sofa, and Macrae rose and went to them: "You have come to bid me farewell," he said, "and I am glad to see you – you have been brothers to me – it breaks my heart to part with you – and all you represent – but I must go. I know not where – nor yet what may befall me, but if I die I shall die seeking the God I have loved – and – lost."

As he spoke he advanced to the man nearest him and held out his hand, and it was taken with great apparent love and emotion. An older man bent his head over it – was it not the kindly, gracious hand that had so often broken to him the Bread of Life? Thomas Reid was the last of the company. He looked into Macrae's face with brimming eyes, and when he took Ian's offered hand a great tear dropped upon the clasping fingers. Both men saw it, and Macrae said with a sad smile:

"That washes all unkindness out, Elder," and with sobbing words Reid answered: "It does, sir. It does. O Minister, is it not possible for you to unsay the words you said last Sabbath Day?"

"No."

"The Lord is merciful to His elect."

"I have denied the Lord, and He has forsaken me."

"He cannot forsake those whom He has chosen. You have lived a good life."

"I have not. I have run after strange gods. I have looked His Word in the face and disobeyed it. I have put scientific and philosophical religion in the place of Christ's religion, and my Bible, once full of comfort, has nothing to say to me."

"Well, then, sir, you know who is the mediator between God and man."

"Elder, if there is a God, I want to find Him."

"Then seek Him, sir."

"I am seeking Him as those who seek for life and life eternal. Through the world I will seek Him. To the last breath of this life I will call upon – perhaps – if there is a God – He may hear me."

Blind with feeling, the men went away so quietly that Mrs. Caird threw down her work and said impatiently: "There! He has sent them off without a word. How could he do it? Oh, but Scots are hard-baked men. Even those proud English would have had a 'God speed' to bless the parting, and I – "

Then Ian entered, and he said cheerfully: "We had a pleasant parting, Jessy. I am glad of it. I would have been sorry to have missed it."

"What did you say to them?"

"What I said last Sabbath – that I was going to seek Him whom my soul loveth, even if I died in the search."

"There is no 'if' in such a search. God is not a 'highly probable' God. He is a fact. He is nearer to you than breathing, closer than hands and feet. Even a pagan knew that much, Ian; all that is wanted is to become conscious of the nearness of God, and to seek God with all your heart and all your soul, and you will find Him. Not perhaps! You will find Him." And Ian was silent and troubled, and went away.

Then Jessy took her knitting again, and, as she lifted the dropped stitches, said slowly and sorrowfully: "Ah me! How many half-saved souls must come back again to learn the lesson they should have learned in this life. God may well be merciful to sinners, for they know not what they do."

On Saturday morning he went very quietly away. He had done all that could be done for the happiness of his family, and the situation had been tranquilly accepted by them. There was no haste, no irritating questions or advices, and, as soon as he was out of sight, everyone went back to the work occupying them. Yet the man they had watched away was near and dear to them, and full of a sorrow so great they hardly understood it.

He was bound for the Shetlands, because he believed he would find in their simple Kirks the height, and depth, and purity of Calvinism. But he found nothing peculiar to these strong, silent fishers. They had generally an inflexible faith in their own election, and in the ordering of their lives by a God who knew "neither variableness nor shadow of turning." They went fearlessly out on any sea a boat could live in, because, if it was not their appointed hour of death, "water could not drown them"; and in all other matters they approved of John Calvin's plan of sin and retribution, and stuck to it like grim death.

Yet he spent the whole summer in Shetland, and winter was threatening to shut in the lonely islands when he saw one morning an unusual craft fighting her way into harbor. She was a strong, handsome boat, a perfect model of what a fine fishing-smack should be, and she was flying a blue ribbon from her masthead. Evidently she was one of the mission ships serving the Deep-Sea Fishermen. Ian was instantly much interested, and soon fell into conversation with one of her surgeons, who took him on board and who talked to him all day of this great floating city of the fishing fleets – a city whose streets were made of tossing ships – a city without a woman in it – a city whose strange, winding lanes of habitations ceaselessly wander over the lonely, stormy miles of the black North Sea – a city even then of more than forty thousand inhabitants.

"And what of the men in this floating city?" asked Ian.

"They are men indeed! Speaking physically, they are the flower of our race. They have muscles like steel, their eyes are steady, their feet sure. The sight of the work they do strikes terror in the heart of one not used to it. When the call comes for the great net to be hauled they hurry, half-asleep, on deck, very often to face a roaring icy wind, lashing sleet or blinding snow. They tramp round the capstan and tug and strain with dogged persistence until the huge beam of the trawl comes up. Then, often in the dark, they grope about till they mechanically coil the nets and begin the gruesome work of sorting and packing fish, with but fitful gleams of light."

"What a dreadful life!" exclaimed Ian.

"And when the haul is over there is no bath, no change of clothes, no warmth for the men. They plunge into their reeking dog-hole of a cabin, and in their sodden clothes sleep until the next call sends them on deck with their clothes steaming.

"But you see, sir," he continued, "we are beginning to send mission ships and hospital ships among the fleets, and the men do not have – when they break or fracture a limb, or in other ways injure themselves – to be tossed from ship to ship until, perhaps after three or four days, they come to a place where they can be attended to."

"And are you improving these conditions in every way?" asked Ian.

"Yes, indeed, very rapidly."

"I should like to go with you."

"No. You would soon be wretched. You could not bear to see the smacksmen at their work. It makes me shiver to think of it. Two days ago I attended to a man who had shattered three fingers and divided a tendon, and who was working out his time in pain that would have been unbearable to me or to you. Our hospital ships, when we have builded plenty of them, will alter such things. But, sir, if you do not want to die of heartache, keep out of the Deep-Sea Fishing Fleet. No weakling could stand it – he could not live a month in it."

Ian, however, could not be discouraged. He remained anxious to see the fleet fisheries at close quarters, and when a boat, urged by four strong rowers, came that afternoon for the surgeon, Ian pleaded to accompany him. "I can help you, Doctor," he said. "I know a little about surgery." So Ian prevailed, and in a few minutes was with the surgeon on his way to the injured man. They found him lying in a lump on the deck, under his head a coil of ropes. The skipper stood at his side, making no pretense to hide his grief. "It's Adam Bork, Doctor," he said, "the best sailor in the fleet, my old mate. Doctor, do something for him."

The Doctor looked at the man, then at the skipper. "There is not a hope," he answered. "He is dying now."